We haven’t spoken since March.
Now, isn’t that perfectly depressing?
I think about it a lot.
I think about it while I stare out of the bus windows,
While I let everything rush in and pile on top of me…
the images and trees flitting by…
the flashes of memories of your face, your smile, and your voice.

Everything about you is right beside me,
but I know you’re not really here.
You would never stay around me this long, right, friend?
I’d stay beside you, right there…
maybe forever, if that’s what you need.

Your ungainly hug still leaves warm spots on my shoulders and my side.
I swear that I can still feel you leaning against me.
I know I can still feel the painful knot in my throat, which I tried to hide.
Your embrace:
it made me feel shorter than you, even though we were the same height,
and it made me feel warm even though I was cold,
when it was around eighty degrees Fahrenheit.
It almost made me happy, but I also wanted to cry.
Because it was making me really see that I was saying goodbye.

i tell you i’ve had a bad day
my depression whacked me
upside the head
and i cried on the bathroom floor

and you share photos
of a quaint forest path
saying that is the real cure for depression
and the pills i take
are a lifelong addiction because
if the pills really did work
then i wouldn’t still be on them
until your fingers ****** bleed

as if my mental illness
is a nasty cold
that requires antibiotics
for about a month
and once i am “better”
i’ll be okay on my own

you treat my pills bottles
like a crutch that makes me weak
like i am a bad person for trying
to live my life worth living
a life which just so happens
to be medicated

and that comes from such
a place of privilege
you and your stupid pictures
of forest paths that have nothing
to do with depression
and anxiety
and screaming hallucinations
that have left me
sobbing on the floor
making myself bleed until
i can tell what’s real again

my mental illness is a chronic thing
even when i am stable
i will never stop being mentally ill
just because i have more good days
than bad doesn’t mean i can cold-turkey
the very things that
keep me functioning
without losing my mind

and when i did try
to go off the meds in high school
you smiled and told me how
brave i was
how strong
how i didn’t need the medication

and days later when i
spent two hours sobbing
until i almost puked
because of the lasagna i had
accidentally burnt to a crisp
you laughed at me
and my tears
and told me to **** it up
to man up
to just be happy

like you telling me to
just be happy
will replace the serotonin my
brain can’t produce enough
of on its own

like you calling me weak
for being on medication
will take away the very real
truth that without
taking those pills every morning
i would have tried to ****
myself again and would
have probably succeeded that time

like you sharing your
pictures of forest paths
and demonstrating your complete
and utter lack of knowledge as to
how medication that isn’t antibiotics works
will suddenly fix
what is broken in my brain

but you take medication
that a doctor prescribes when you
are sick enough for that
to be needed
and nobody calls you weak

and when you break a bone
you get it set in plaster
well i can’t put a cast on
the cracks in my psyche

so i do the next best thing
because if your brain can’t
produce enough serotonin
to keep you wanting to live
all on its own
then store-bought is fine

(and you turning on me
when my mental illness stops
being something i can manage
on my own
says more about you
than it ever will about me)

Don’t be surprised when you come back, knocking on the door,
only to find some dust,
your clothes,
And pieces of a broken heart scattered on the floor.